


Alien vs /ss/: Nourishing Jizz-Diets For the Human Race

by Tas_tan



Category: Original Work
Genre: /ss/, F/M, FaceFucking, MILF, Oral, Size Difference, Sweat, alien - Freeform, cum diet, cum from nose, excess semen, musk, obscene physical proportion, weird internal biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 08:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19826554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tas_tan/pseuds/Tas_tan
Summary: A little boy's entire family meets an untimely end at the hand of an invasive species of predatory aliens with a taste for human flesh. Instead of dying like his family, his gender and the species penchant for seamless mimicry sees his life as a normal child exchanged for that of the oldest 'boy' in a family of females who must sloppily consume massive quantities of semen to live, or human flesh.He's doing alright though, no worries.





	Alien vs /ss/: Nourishing Jizz-Diets For the Human Race

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, you know what's good. There's a tiny bit of gore/gay ass horror at the start, but really, I'm not good enough to make either of those things that disturbing.

_Have you ever wondered seriously about whether or not aliens and monsters exist? Or about what they might be like if they actually do?_

_I have. I’m happy I did, too._

_It's not because I'm a child. I know that it's probably impossible for you to believe otherwise, but believe me, I wouldn't be trying to discuss this with you if a ‘little boy’s sense of wonder’ was my sole motivation._

_If it were, I could spend time day-dreaming on my own. It'd be much easier for me to pose the questions that interest me to myself, and later come to my own conclusions about the most acceptable answers for them. There’d be no arguments, no compromises, no reasoning—just opinions and the acceptance of them._

_That would be a much better use of time than trying to convince adults that thinking about aliens is worthwhile, don't you think?_

_Anyway, it’s not like I don’t have my own reasons for feeling the way that I do. Encountering aliens or something might not be all that likely, but people entertain the thought of plenty of other things that are just as unlikely._

_The world could end tomorrow. Your parents might pass away a week from now. You might forget to lock your door before going to sleep tonight. There's nothing that says for sure that any of these things will happen, but society entertains ‘ifs’ such as these on a number of massive scales. Like life insurance. Or that thing…_

_  
Rainy day savings. Or those RRSP things. Whatever._

_Why else but for the sake of being prepared? Whether off-handedly or intentionally, we as people like to think about things that might happen, and formulate plans of action or emotion that better facilitate our persistence should one of them occur. Assuming it is something that doesn't wipe out all life on earth, anyway._

_By thinking about things this way, even the most absurd of scenarios can be imagined as something worth thinking about._

_That was the only point I was trying to make, by the way. Of course most of you would have been willing to accept my point if I had just started with that, but that wasn't why I chose to present it this way._

_Now I have you thinking._

_So, let me ask you this: What **would** you do if you somehow came into contact with aliens? What would you do then and there? How would you live your life from that point onward if you survived the encounter? _

_Actually, that's kind of vague, isn't it? It wouldn't be fair for me to make you imagine all of the details behind such a scenario by yourself._

_Let's say you're a child awoken in the middle of the night by a bunch of strange noises outside your bedroom. At first, you ignore them as the settling of your home and remind yourself that being scared of monsters or aliens is both juvenile and senseless. You succeed in asserting this point, and after a time, begin drifting back to sleep in spite of the continued trickle of these noises out from underneath your bedroom door._

_Before you can completely lose consciousness, a louder noise, this one very much like a muffled scream or groan, sets your heart into a fearful throb and squeezes a frigid sweat through your pores. Like the others, this noise is produced with regularity. Unlike them, it seems timed—you can imagine a distinct 'cause' for its production and a degree of severity to go alongside it._

_Again, you chastise yourself. You repeat the words spoken by your mother and father when you were smaller and more helpless and fight to regard the noises as nothing more than the contents of an awful nightmare._

_The noises do not stop. Every second you spend in the company of your petrified heartbeat adds decibels to their production and clarity to their contents. You begin to think that you're hearing words amongst the muffled nothingness, but again, you convince yourself that this too must be the product of a bad dream._

_Struggle as you might, you're a child; when driven to panic, no amount of reason or pride can guide your behavior away from submission to your instincts. Without concrete knowledge as to what the noises might be and where they might stem from, leaving your bed to ascertain as much begins to seem more and more reasonable of an action to take._

_Perhaps your mother, father, and sister are playing a trick on you for fun? Equally, a burglar may’ve invaded your home and taken them hostage. Whatever the case, you begin to imagine that 'action' is the only thing that will see the production of these noises brought to an end._

_The noises grow louder, as does your discomfort._

_Though fearful, you leave the safety of your bedroom in hopes of performing this ‘action’. Creeping out of your bed as quietly as possible, you move to your bedroom door on the tips of your toes. Once ahead of it, you noiselessly crack open its face as you've done many a time whilst trying to escape detection from your parents._

_Suddenly, the noises become even clearer. They do not merely 'sound' like muffled screams and groans; everything ingrained within you argues that this is exactly what they are._

_Something is accompanying them as well. Many things._

_A wet gnashing of...something. A splatter of something else._

_Too fearful to truly think on the nauseating combination, you continue out of your bedroom as planned. Some part of you knows that whatever is responsible for these noises cannot be good, but you do not yet know this for certain._

_As you progress through the second floor corridor of your home, you become more certain._

_The door to your parents' bedroom has been left ajar. You recall your little sister's tendency to rush to your parents' side when afraid. If ever there was a time for her to do so, you believe tonight would be it._

_By the time you arrive at the staircase, you feel entirely certain._

_Your family and the noises pouring from the first floor are connected._

_In this, you find conviction— the arrogant and ignorant variety brandished by children who simply do not know any better. This conviction states that your family needs you now more so than ever before._

_For their sake, you ignore all of your senses. You ignore the stench of copper that clings to the ground floor's air and deafen yourself to the sound of your heart throbbing within your ears. As though you had intended to all along, you slink back-first across the wall dividing your home's lobby from the kitchen until you can see into the tiled space through the rectangular entrance way leading into it._

_Something is on the tiles. It is too dark for you to tell, but the way that it sits on the ceramic suggests that it is something thicker than water, yet looser than cream._

_Deep down, you know what it is—you simply do not acknowledge as much to ensure that you can continue pushing yourself towards your family’s aid._

_You've become so focused on helping them—from saving them from the 'cause' of their muffled screams—that you fail to recognize that your arrival at the mouth of the kitchen has coincided with a sudden end to the noises you heard whilst coming down the stairs._

_Now, there is only quiet. A sickening nothingness that accentuates the sounds produced by your body and in itself argues that a single step towards a proper 'peaking point' into the kitchen would be foolhardy._

_Be that as it may, you take this step. Though your ability to help your family depends on your ability to keep yourself out of harm's way, you know that you can do nothing for them without knowledge as to what is threatening them._

_So you inch forward. Once in place, you turn your head to set a single eye into the interior of your kitchen._

_What you find is a shot of the familiar space illuminated by narrow blades of moonlight from its window sill._

_The substance you saw on the tiles by the entrance is covering most every inch of the room's interior. Smeared, pooled, and streaked, you can no longer lie to yourself._

_It's blood._

_But whose? And why so much? Your eyes set off in search of answers. They find within the darkness stumps and protrusions. Some large and others small, each one your eyes find is set just far enough away from the moonlight to remain as indistinct blobs lacking a real identity._

_A thought crosses your mind as to what they might be, but you discard it. In your preoccupation with the blood-soaked kitchen, you find that you've overlooked the more 'relevant' fractions of its interior._

_At its core—the point from which the blood and stumps spread—are three creatures. The darkness impedes your ability to recognize them, but their size and movements tell you everything that you need to know about them. All save one stands only a foot short of contact with the ceiling. None of the creatures are 'upright' in the sense that you understand. It seems as though they're set at a perpetual 70 degree lean—much like a predatory insect or ancient lizard._

_Now, you are well and truly in shock. Your body tells you to flee, but something more salient than your desire to live holds you in place: the same detestable curiosity that carried you out of bed and into the kitchen._

_Desperate for answers, you trace your eyes over the largest creature within the kitchen one final time. Just then, happenstance sees some part of its mass lumber into contact with the moonlight bleeding in from the kitchen window._

_It's a maw. It does not belong to any animal you know of—its too large to belong to an animal at all. An arm is hanging from it. Slender and inviting even in dismemberment, you can recall what its hand felt like caressing your face before you even knew what the feeling meant._

_In the same instanceyou lay eyes on it, it disappears. Rolled into the creature's maw by a sudden flick of its skull, its position adorned by moonlight is replaced by another organ._

_An eye. A slitted, serpentine, and monstrous eye._

_And it's looking at you._

_So, anyway, now that you have a clearer idea of the sort of situation I'm talking about, let me ask you again:_

_What would you do if aliens were real? For that matter, what would you do if you survived an encounter with them?_

_It's fine if you don't have an answer to those questions—I didn't either at first._

_If that's the case, though, maybe my answers might help you come up with some yourself?_

_I kind of don't think so, but I guess we'll find out._

-

**THE INSIDE OF A KITCHEN—EARLY AFTERNOON**

Despite setting out with the intent to remain focused on his task until he completed it, Juna had spent the majority of his time engaged in the activity day-dreaming.

Even in the worst of cases, a child day-dreaming his way through a task was hardly deserving of reproach. Juna did not know this—had he, the odds of him using the generality as an excuse were equally slim.

In the moment, the excuse that he generated for himself was boredom. Stirring a mixture of apple-sauce and tiny chunks of fruit together within a bowl was boring. No one normal _could_ concentrate on such an activity, much less actually express a desire to do so. As such, a bit of inattention on his part was an acceptable part of ‘getting the job done’.

Juna’s conjuring this excuse for himself was merely subterfuge for the root cause of his inattention. As was sometimes the case in the morning, he had awoken feeling hotter than usual. His body did not display fever symptoms, but the ‘mind’ he had been born with was of the opinion that his internal body temperature was abnormal.

Though it was a Saturday, sleeping in and nursing his infirmity with the comfort of his bed was not an option. Having offered to look after his younger sister in their mother’s absence, stalwart long-suffering was all that remained him.

Discomfort aside, Juna did not regret his decision. Of the many ‘roles’ that life demanded that he fill, that of ‘being an older brother’ was by far the most familiar to him. This position was one he owed to a little girl very different from the one that he referred to as his sister. This other girl was no longer present, but a senseless want at the root of his mind often suggested that performing his ‘role’ as best as possible would keep the debt that he owed to her from being blotted out of his memory.

Thus, Juna stirred apple sauce in delirium until his lolly-gagging inspired frustration in the child he was to serve. Within a few minutes, a tugging at the hem of his t-shirt dragged his attentions off of the sweetly-scented mush below him and onto the little girl to which the bowl belonged.

“Juna. Why're you stirrin' my apple sauce so much?” the little girl asked, a hint of concern to her voice. “Is somethin' wrong with it? Mommy never stirs it for this long...”

Such was Juna's perception of this voice that his mind failed to perceive the girlish impatience that had been injected into it. Instead homing in on its innocence and curiosity, he found himself moved to meet it as an ‘adult’ in the presence of a ‘child’.

“Oh…”

“Sorry, Vemili-a. I just spaced out for a bit.” he replied warmly. Turning to his left, he dropped down into a squat to face the smaller girl. Doing so more for himself than to assure her of anything, he used the opportunity to affectionately tousle the childishly unkempt mop of unearthly green hair set atop her skull.

“I probably didn't get enough sleep or something. Here, let's get you your snack...”

As quickly as he had descended, Juna motioned to return to his feet. Fractions of a second into the move, a tiny palm was set atop the hand patting his sister's head, and a tiny cheek was pressed into contact with his face.

Skin-to-skin contact with her brother’s cheek saw Vemili-a produce a number of short and deep nuzzles. Grinding the pale pudge of her dimple against his cheek as if in search of something buried underneath it, she devoted herself to the gesture for several seconds prior to peeling backwards and allowing her brother the retreat that he desired.

With this, she shook her head.

“Not tired. Sick.” affirming her own utterance with a nod, a frown of displeasure could now be seen spread across the stable smoothness of her lips. “You need to go to bed and drink lotsa water, Juna. Your body still doesn’t like Mommy’s stuff.”

Vemili-a knew her brother to be too stubborn for his own good. She quite liked this about him—it meant that he followed through with spoiling her and advocated on her behalf to their mother on occasion. Sometimes, though, she found that his nature caused him to endure pain that could otherwise be avoided.

Typically, his willingness to accept suffering was out of her hands. Presently, this was not the case—her burgeoning intellect assured her as much. Thus, with only the older boy’s comfort in mind, she broke away from her position ahead of Juna and stepped in towards the counter-side he had stood in front of. There, she pushed herself up onto her tiptoes and deftly scooped her bowl of apple sauce from off of the edge of the counter. With it in hand, she afterwards set out into a ghostly stride from the front of the kitchen back towards the dining table.

Seemingly content with righting her brother’s impending wrong, Vemili-a’s facial features smoothed to match her gait as she progressed.

Comically, all the progress made with regard to her mood wiped out with only a single utterance from her brother.

“I promised Mom I’d look after you, you know.” stepping forward to match his sister’s retreat, Juna measured his pace to ensure that he did not overrun her in the process.

Vemili-a was not a child easily stopped from having her way. Past this, there was no good reason to hold her back—for as much as he intended to see that she was taken care of, independence in children was something to be encourage.

Or so he had been told.

“You are looking after me. You made the apple sauce.” Vemili-a replied calmly.

“But I’m supposed to make sure that you eat it, too.” retorted Juna.

“I’m not a baby. I’m gonna eat my own apple sauce—you’re gonna go to bed.”

Flaunting her intent through an indignant puffing of her cheeks and a refusal to make eye-contact with her brother, Vemili-a strode her way right back up to the table as if she were by herself. Once close enough to it, she pushed back up onto her tiptoes to set her bowl onto the edge of the table. What followed was a vigorous, breast-cushioned wiggle of her miniature frame back into an upright seated position on the table.

Still pouting, Vemili-a awkwardly took up the handle of her spoon before further conversation could be imposed onto her.

Rather than complaining about the inevitable, Juna opted to smile weakly and allow what was to happen to happen.

His choosing to do so proved prudent as well. No sooner did he begin drawing satisfaction from the sight of Vemili-a awkwardly shoveling a spoonful of apple sauce into her mouth did another ‘child’ in need of ‘care’ appear. 

“Juna! Juna! I think I have made a grave mistake!” a female voice whined. “What does it mean when a cellular phone suggests that you 'UP-DATE' it? I declined to do so, but I do not believe this was the correct choice...”

The moment Juna turned his head towards the sound of this voice, a strange mixture of familiarity and discomfort came over him. These feelings had nothing to do with that which ailed him, and everything to do with the massive woman that had projected her voice into the kitchen.

To a point, Mirieli-a’s appearance was of a ‘sort’ that one could find anywhere—provided they were willing to look. Tall enough to be described as above average for a woman (approximately 6 feet if not slightly below the mark) and adorned by clothing appropriate for her apparent age, the ‘root’ of her presence was designed to draw attention in short bursts before casting it off towards more conventionally appealing foundations. Even her face, a profile enhanced by a milky whiteness neither too pale nor too fair, suggested that another woman boasting similar qualities might exist somewhere throughout the world. Her eyes were perpetually closed with a streak of wrinkling dug into the flesh at their edges down to the peak of her cheeks, and her lips could often (now, for instance) be found arranged in the slightest of matronly smiles.

Juna was of the opinion that these three aspects of the older woman’s appearance was where the ‘point’ ended. 

Heaped atop her skull in a more stylized form of excess relative to her daughter was moss green hair devoid of a human parallel. Dense enough to pass for a wispy synthetic wool yet malleable enough to be arranged into a conventional ‘down-set’ that left thick arcs of hair to frame her neck on either side, the sight of it would lead an unsuspecting individual to wrack their minds in search of information about the ethnic group to which such hair belonged.

All who did so were doomed to failure. On earth, no such ethnic group existed.

Not amongst humans.

Even if one managed to accept Mirieli-a’s hair as naturally occurring, Juna had seen definitions of her appearance shifted from ‘exotic’ to ‘exceptional’ within seconds of exposure to her entire body. Dominating the width of her torso (and a great deal of the airspace both ahead and beside it) were breasts larger than entire individuals were fat. Both neatly packaged within a perfectly modern combination of a white-cotton t-shirt and (fill in clothes), the K-cup mammaries lost none of their visual appeal. The warmth of their fat-plumped flesh and the kneaded-dough texture undoubtedly owned by the flesh itself carried a ‘weight’ that a modest piece of clothing could not hope to carry. Worse still, their excess relative to the narrow width of Mirieli-a’s shoulders and arms rendered them even more prevalent. Whether hanging from her chest as the sloped beanbag-chair-tear-drops that they appeared to be at present or set a-bounce by the slightest motion that she took, there could be no discounting the fabric-wrapped flesh as anything short of abnormal.

Were it her breasts alone that maintained qualities such as these, a series of physical augmentation surgeries could be used to explain away the rest of her appearance.

This wasn’t the case. Past the disgustingly fertile protrusion of her breasts was the disgustingly fertile width of her hips and the disgustingly squishy meat of her thighs (and from certain angles her buttocks).

At present, the coverage of these assets was a task split between her t-shirt and a pair of (color) capri tights. Point for point, the same qualitative ‘bleed’ that oozed through her t-shirt could be seen in these garments. From the wide, ‘U’-shaped bow stretching the waistline of her tights (a waistline that exposed a great deal of her midriff and teased the pockets of fat perfectly grafted to its bone-structure) down to its claustrophobic suckle to the fatty-musculature of her pillow-width thighs, the presentation of her lower half was devoid of ambiguity. Were one to dig a hand into the meat of her thighs, the span of its palm and accompanying digits would be consumed by soft warmth before accumulated muscle repelled them. If one were to attempt the same with her ass, the ample fat invested into the beach-ball-sized peach would embrace their limb until its buoyancy rejected it entirely.

All of this could be garnered from a glance at the clothed woman from any given angle. 

Understandably, the sight of Mirieli-a remained eye-catching for Juna even after a year of regular exposure to it. None who caught him staring at his ‘mother’ devoted a passing thought as to why—she was simply too appealing _not_ to be looked at. 

It was not arousal that held his eyes on the woman, however. 

It was the knowledge that within her existed something so monstrously inhuman that presenting itself as otherwise became child’s play.

No matter the amount of time that passed, it seemed as though Vemili-a's mother would always unnerve him.

For a moment, Juna’s recognition of this reality held his tongue.

But only for a moment.

“Oh…you're back. When you said you'd be gone in the morning, I thought you meant the entire thing.” Juna replied, face devoid of the emotions swirling inside of him.

Shaking her head, Mirieli-a responded to the boy's greeting in a much more 'age-appropriate' tone of voice.

Its projection did not last very long, however.

“Did I not explain? This morning was the morning I had promised to begin my physical education with Ein’s mother. It is a very short trip by car, you know.”

Recognizing his misconception, another calm “Oh.” pushed its way past Juna's lips. 

Mirieli-a made it clear very quickly that this was not the response that she had hoped to hear.

Striding over to where the youth sat, her arrival at Juna's side saw her drop to her knees and childishly press her front up against his side. This done, she curled her arms around the width of his frame to trap his upper body within a squishy embrace.

Far too distraught to be bothered by the fact that she had consumed a great deal of the boy's upper body with her breasts, her airy pleading for assistance continued unhindered.

“Junaaaaa. What I have been doing with your sister is unimportannnnnnt. Please instruct me as to how to perform the 'UPDATE' correctly....” Mirieli-a whined. “If I cannot maintain the device as other people do, I will be perceived as strange...”

As she spoke, Mirieli-a gently rocked her upper body back and forth in a display of urgency. Diction antiquated and behavior juvenile, defining her as one of the two descriptors seemed impossible.

Wisely, Juna no longer bothered with such activities. Unlike most, he was already well aware of the fact that she was both.

“...Let me see it, then? I can show you again—just calm down first, okay?” he replied.

Satisfied solely for the fact that she'd be receiving help, Mirieli-a released Cruz and retreated backwards to a comfortable distance at his side. Pecking a kiss to his cheek as she went, she produced the device gripped within her right palm with a smile.

“Your kindness is wasted on humanity ♥. Thank you for being so helpful.”

Taking his 'compliment' in stride, Juna pivoted in his seat to take up Mirieli-a's phone and begin looking into it. Making certain to hold the phone in such a way that Mirieli-a could watch as he worked, he demonstrated the same process he had produced a month prior whilst making certain to stop on occasion to explain what it was he was doing.

So practiced was the boy in his display that by its end, he felt compelled to ask a question whose answer had already been drilled into his brain.

“By the way, I know we've been over this, but is the technology here still giving you trouble? Vemili-a doesn’t really have the same problems you do, which sort of made me wonder if there was something specific about it that maybe you just…I don’t know….don’t get?”

Embarrassed, Mirieli-a reflexively pouted before she could will herself to respond properly.

Fortunately (or perhaps not), another mouthpiece within the kitchen had very recently become capable of speaking for her.

“It's 'cause Mommy's spoiled. She knows you'll show her again, so she's not really trying to 'member it right.” Vemili-a explained. “It's probably why she doesn't wanna eat food, too. She knows you'll keep bein' nice and feeding her 'cause she can just throw a tantrum if you don't.”

Ostensibly incapable of significant flares of anger (but more likely attuned to her youngest daughter's smart mouth), Mirieli-a's pout loosened slightly at Vemili-a's comment. Soon afterwards, she turned to project an expression of 'motherly displeasure' towards the girl.

The expression itself was utterly ineffective—though Mirieli-a would never know it.

“Vemili-a. I do not believe I raised you to speak of your elders that way. If you must speak your mind, I would ask that you do so with the human 'politeness' you've learned thus far.” she admonished. “That aside, your words were not very fair towards Juna...”

Exercising her perceived 'right' as the most mature female within the house, Mirielia wrapped her arms around Juna's front for a second time. Hugging him into her bust more tightly, she continued to stare at her daughter whilst hints of happiness seeped into her face.

“Juna is protecting his **entire species** by being with us this way, is he not? I wouldn't call my being hungry throwing a tantrum either, young lady.”

If slightly, Mirieli-a’s words caused every muscle within Juna’s upper body to stiffen. The change in contact that this tightening pushed up against the mass of her breasts turned out to be too negligible for Mirieli-a herself to notice it.

This circumstance was one Juna was extremely grateful for. Over time, managing the discomforts of his reality had become doable for him. Differently, having this reality recited aloud and defined as something that he ought to be proud of remained as painful and mortifying as it had been when first Mirieli-a had broached the subject.

Too young to be truly bothered by anything, Vemili-a merely shrugged at her mother’s words.

“I don't care about other humans n'stuff but okay. You should treat him nicer, though; he's sick today 'causea you.”

This information came as ‘news’ to Mirieli-a. Since Juna’s apparent acclimation to the physical ‘supplements’ she had brought from her home world, she had seen no further need for monitoring his vital signs on a daily basis. Doing so was no more difficult than laying a hand against his skin and feeling, but in the absence of necessity, she had become much more comfortable with acquiring information about his condition through human conversation.

The idea that one of her newfound human preferences had proved detrimental with regard to her host’s health proved very jarring for her.

But not enough so to slow her hand in correcting her mistake.

“Juna, is this true?” she inquired, features slanted down towards her side. “If so, why did you not mention this? Must I always remind you of how awful it would be if you were to perish?”

Juna had no answer to the alien woman’s question. As a budding prepubescent, submitting to his lack of experience and occasional infirmity seemed like less and less of an option for him every day. Circumstances aside, he was of the opinion that he needed to care for himself—even if doing so was not in his best interest.

Mirieli-a cared little for these feelings. Suppressing a frown, she released Juna from her hug and slid ahead of his front. Maintaining something of a crouch as she went, her moved ended with a mushing of her breasts against the boy’s thighs and a light clasping of her palms to his hips.

Once in place, she exhaled.

“Oh, no matter. I’ve yet to consume nutrients today, so I can rectify this right now.” she muttered. “You must be more “allmest” with me in the future, Juna. DId you not ask the same of me a year ago?”

Thinking back to the point in time that Mirieli-a had referenced was not something Juna wished to do. In an effort to keep his mind from wandering, he immersed himself further in his reality and met the older woman’s gaze with one of his own.

“It’s “honest”. And I’m sorry.” replied Juna. “I wanted to be able to help. None of the symptoms are as bad as they were before, so I figured I’d be able to manage.”

Giggling warmly, Mirieli-a shook her head.

“As long as you remember ♥. It is no longer important now, so shall we focus on making you feel better?”

Indifferent as to the boy’s answer (or perhaps aware of what it would be), Mirieli-a poked several fingers from both of her hands underneath the waistline of Juna’s pants. Following their insertion, she gently pulled both of her arms downwards to peel the garment off of his crotch and down to his ankles.

In doing so, Mirieli-a brought herself face to face with a pungent spire of cockmeat ill-fitted to the crotch that it was attached to. Composed of sweaty, light-brown meat reddened incrementally from its midsection to its tip, the wrist-width endowment offered the sort of painfully-pent bloat typically unseen in developing children.

The compound that Juna had taken—the same one responsible for his occasional poor health and one of many that Mirieli-a had brought with her to earth—had made the impossible possible. What had once been a fairly-sized phallus for an (x) year old had become a much more ‘appropriate’ 14 inch breeding instrument armored at each of its sides with a single obese, shoe-string length vein. Each one trailing haphazardly down the length of his cock from his glans, they collectively offered a very daunting display of masculinity—more so considering the fact that it was a boy who owned it.

Dimensions and texture aside, its shape solidified its definition. Initially extending upward and outward as a typical erection, the pulsing erection curled back in towards Juna’s crotch in a manner similar to an obscenely large banana.

The size and texture of the virile pipe was not what Mirieli-a loved most about it. Fundamentally, her attraction to it was olfactory. Though long since acquainted with the smell of sweat, sex, and squidy protein that billowed from its meat, the mixed smells formed a stench that never failed to stimulate her appetite. 

Such was her preference for these smells and the hunger that they instilled in her that ‘eating’ the throbbing erection immediately became more important to her than ‘admiring’ it.

“And now I shall consume semen~! Please refrain from moving too much, alright?”

These words were Juna’s sole warning (as if such a thing was necessary). Just as soon as they left her lips, Mirieli-a levelled her lips with her ‘son’s’ glans, parted them, and skewered her face inwards to see the full length of his reeking erection plugged down her throat…

-

**THEY ATE A MAN’S FAMILY AND TASTATURA IS STILL OUT HERE LIKE “NAH /SS/ B CHILL”.**

Mirieli-a much preferred the taste of human semen to human flesh and blood. Both resources ultimately accomplished the same purpose, but the extraction and consumption of the former was much less 'messy' relative to the latter. Considered alongside its superior taste and nutritional efficiency, attempting to compare the gooey white substance with the unappetizing chunks and syrup she had ingested during her first day on earth seemed to her as an exercise in futility.

However potent, her palate's preference was not her primary motivation for ranking one of the nutrient sources above the other. She was not the sort of individual to deny that it played a part in sculpting her opinion set, but the foundation atop which this 'set' was built was not something that could be obscured by flavor or digestibility.

The broad strokes of this foundation were very simple: Consuming semen allowed her to live on earth with her children in comfort and obscurity whereas consuming human flesh did not. As well, consuming semen allowed her the comfort and clarity of mind required for her to progressively 'repay' the child she had wronged when first began searching for nutrient sources on earth.

The accomplishment of these things were more important to her than the taste of any

foodstuff—hence her eagerness to descend to parity with her adopted child's crotch and engorge her digestive tract with his phallus to consume her first meal of the day.

In her mind, this was the very best thing she could do for herself and her family—especially considering the burden that Juna had taken on to ensure that she and her daughters were cared for. 

These feelings of rightness and affection often resulted in extremely effective siphoning-sessions for Juna's member. Unbeknownst to Mirieli-a , her latest efforts had sprinted towards the achievement of this 'effectiveness' in no time at all.

Equipped with a human mouth and a vibrantly inhuman gullet, completely consuming the augmented girth of Juna's cock was no more difficult than sliding a set of fingers down her throat solely for the sake of doing so. When first she pressed his member between her lips, every inch—from the bloated, beet-red spearhead at its tip all the way down across the curved pipe that extended from his crotch—disappeared into the cloying warmth of her maw without any of the depressive stutters or reflexive gags a 'normal' woman might endure. 

At the end of her descent, the smushing of Mirieli-a's lips against Juna's crotch left her facial features as they had been prior to engulfing his member. Her eyes remained closed, and the 'feel' given off by the top half of her face was that of mild airiness impervious to most forms of irritation.

The initiation of her throating ministrations failed to change this. Not a second after punching the entirety of Juna's cock into the oozing density of her gullet, Mirieli-a peeled her skull backwards to draw the sleeve inches wrapped around his shaft (and all of the humid, quivering pressure that they imposed) back across the sensitive pipe up to its tip. As there was no real 'difficulty' attached to the act, she completed the phallus-glazing motion in the blink of an eye, and lingered with her dick-spread lips cutely grafted to the boy's glans for only a moment before spiking the grotesque foot of cockmeat back down her throat.

Before she could devote even a single conscious thought to her efforts, the 'mating motions' ingrained into her reflexes (helpful instructions derived from human media) carried her into a vigorous pump-fucking of her innards that spiked the plush of her lips off of Juna's crotch with a crushing regularity.

Free to think and act throughout the activity despite appearing completely enamored with it, Mirieli-a's thoughts wandered from one sexually oriented topic to another.

Despite acting to satiate her need for nutrients, the fact that Juna was mating with her face was not lost on her. Birthed from her acknowledgement of this fact (and her alien heritage) were a number of misconceptions that were better off 'thought' than they 'uttered'.

“This is so very nice ♥. Many times before have I felt this, yet it is still so very nice...” she cooed to herself, tone more wistful than it was sexually satisfied. “Human nerve endings are truly wondrous~! So small and compact, yet so sensitive—it hardly feels any different from when I was inseminated with Vemili-a ♥.”

Whilst thinking, Mirieli-a's neck and skull kept her throating motions 'interesting'. After some time spent grinding Juna's orifice-spreading cock through one slimy punch between her lips after another (punches that smothered its veins through a squirming assortment of phallus-draining bulbs and congealed gullet flesh), angles of ascent and descent were added to her motions to see certain fractions of his member stressed more so than others.

Beginning from his glans, Mirieli-a skewered her lips with Juna's glans along a path shaped like a cork-screw. Curving her skull to the right throughout her descent, she squeezed the

stimulation-reddened bulk at the right side of his shaft into much closer contact with the texture of her 'esophagus'. Excited by the extra weight pushed against it and the helpless wriggling of the veins spread across the region, Mirieli-a's esophagus met this fraction of Juna's cock with a complete smothering of its exterior and an avid, meat-wringing 'suckle' to the flesh trapped within it.

Like all of the skewering instances that had come before it, Juna's cock was only exposed to this squirming hell for a split second. Within this second, Mirieli-a's drew her lips upwards to see them re-assume their pressurized kiss with his shaft's peak, and afterwards plunged them back down along the pipe to its base. 

The next time the gloss of her lips ascended, Mirieli-a produced another one of these smothering cork-screws (these being biased to the left). Before long, these cock-milking curves were perfectly integrated into the stamping of her lips to Juna's crotch—all without a moment’s conscious thought from the woman responsible for them.

As Mirieli-a did not have to think her way through her efforts, she instead spent the duration of her metronome thinking to herself about the extensive ‘fortune’ brought to her by a single child.

“Perhaps…” in her contentment, Mirieli-a allowed her train of thought to drift into an area that she had defined as ‘off-limits’ conversationally. “Perhaps it is a good thing that Juna’s family were here to greet me when I arrived. I cannot recall ever deriving so much pleasure from something as mundane as eating ♥. Were it not for this human body and Juna accepting my compounds, I’d still be consuming things instead of the sloppy baby-juice squirming within his bloated testicles ♥.”

Initially, Mirieli-a could not bring herself to regret her utterance. She knew that it was wrong. On that night, everything that the boy had held dear was taken away from him. Were it not for his youth and gender, his life would have been lost as well. Alien or no, the concept of irreversible loss was not lost on her.

Mirieli-a was merely selfish. Like most sentient beings, she did not dwell for long on ‘how’ she had attained her happiness. Instead, she cherished the family that she had gained from her action, and occasionally drowned herself in pleasures that were regularly availed to her throat (the present being one such instance).

She was not completely bestial, however. Such qualities were lost to her on the very same night that she watched Juna’s will to live drain from his eyes like the blood that had burst from his family’s innards.

“…That is very rude, Mirieli-a. Very, very rude.” she thought to herself. “Instead of thinking such awful thoughts whilst feeding yourself, you should be working towards making your son’s life happier! You know so little about living properly as a human! You can at the very least make a single boy’s life comfortable, can you not?”

Internally steeled, Mirieli-a redoubled her ‘feeding’ effort in a manner almost contrary to the action set that she had chosen. Suddenly halting her voracious skull-spikes following an especially sharp plunge (as followed by a grinding nuzzle of her lips around the root of Juna’s member), she effortlessly wrenched skull backwards until Juna’s glans burst from between her lips.

Flattening an yet-thinned layer of murky throat-slop along the orifice-worn bloat of the boy’s cock as she went, his cocktip’s escape from between her lips was consequentially primed to make use of the ‘ease’ and ‘disregard’ displayed in the action. Just as Junas glans burst from between her lips, a muted splatter of her face-cunt’s sexual lubricants erupted alongside it. Like the juices that had come before them, the contents of this burst were allowed a multi-faceted drizzle down across the girth of the boy’s spire before further action from Mirieli-a disrupted them.

As though she had not just entertained a brutishly curved pipe of vein-gilded cockmeat within her throat and esophagus, the disguised alien lunged inward as her instincts bade her too. Abandoning Juna’s left hip throughout the move, she snapped the unsullied limb up to the slime-sodden nose of the boy’s member before curling its palm around his glans to form a lubricant greased half-vice.

The vehemence with which this vice was formed—a vein-flattening sort that saw a swampy *SPLRTCH♥* produced as a consequence of its contact with honeyed meat of Juna’s cock—suggested that it was to be put to immediate (and effective) use.

Mirieli-a had other plans. The end of the monstrous woman’s lunge the sludge-smeared lower half of her face just off to the left of Juna’s cock root. Being a woman very much ‘in the know’ with regards to human facial mating techniques, she purposed the seconds immediately following this event in a needlessly perverse parting of her lips.

It was at this point that Juna awoke from complacent haze that Mirieli-a’s imposition had forced onto him.

He did not awaken because he wished to—had he the option, he’d have remained in his haze until the heated sludge packed within his crotch was yoked out into his mother’s stomach.

He awoke because he was forced to recall his own personal hell. Below him with the flushed visage of a woman doing her utmost to present herself as a depraved siphon for semen. Though her eyes were clothes and her features matronly, the pubic hair glued to the corners of her lips and the cock grease shining atop her cheeks was proof enough to convince anyone as to what she was.

For as much as this aroused him, the contents of the woman’s mouth instilled an even larger amount of fear into him. A single obese tongue—too thick and lengthy for Mirieli-a’s mouth yet not to the extent of being cumbersome—could now be see dangling from out of her maw as any other famished lizard’s might. Behind it, an abyss of squirming, cherry-red flesh swelled from its earlier usage and caked in the slime that warmed his erection gurgled and slurped as if starved for something.

Juna had seen the true nature of his ‘mother’s’ organs many times. The sight of their yearning should not have instilled anything into him, yet as he was presently (aroused and disoriented), the combination was a terrifying reminder of the fate that he had escaped.

The fate that he continued to ‘escape’.

Fortunately, this reminder was not so mortifying as to render his ears incapable of function.

“Your phallus tastes very good today, Juna. I’m certain that your semen will taste even better ♥.” Miri-eli-a chirped, voice unhindered by its projection towards the youth’s crotch. “After I consume it, would you perhaps like to use whatever remains inside you to properly inseminate me? I do say this quite often, but I think it would be very appropriate to take you as a mate given what you’ve provided us with so far…”

Miri-eli-a’s investment in the question she had asked was peripheral. Having asked the question a number of times in the past, Juna’s answer lingered ever ready within the back of her mind.

If he accepted, she would be happy. If he didn’t, she could at the very least use the proposition as an excuse to make sure his forthcoming orgasm was as thick and nutritious as possible.

Much to her surprise, Juna acted in such a way that required her to think on her feet.

“…I don’t think I should have to tell you this twice…” the boy’s tone suggested chastisement, but his delivery was much too weak to be perceived as more than an idle comment. “But adults don’t marry children on earth. It’s considered a crime…”

To this, Mirieli-a produced a giggle, and at last decided to begin stroking the twitching cocktip she had squished into her palm. In time with the motions of her hands came the release of a sulky exhalation from between her lips.

“That's not very fair, is it? You were perfectly willing to violate human convention to ensure that the world around you did not share the same fate as your family...” she suggested smoothly. 

Such a blunt statement of facts proved too much for Juna to process in the moment. Conflict did make an appearance across his face, but even this seemed somehow 'lukewarm' relative to what the boy ought to have felt.

Mirieli-a only realized the severity of her utterance after several additional seconds spent stroking Juna's cock. Visibly disappointed with herself, she mustered all of the 'emotional understanding' she had garnered from her time on earth and spoke again to rectify the situation.

“...That wasn't very kind of me. I apologize.” she began quietly. “Please forget that I said anything. I wish only for your comfort, but I am still not very good at speaking in a way that affirms this...”

“I will instead convince you through action. I will remind you of the kind of pleasure you'll feel should you mate with me, and I will use my innards to grind out as much of your slimy lubricant as you are willing to give me.”

Re-equipping a perverse smile, feeding herself again became Mirieli-a's foremost priority.

As a result, so too did her stroking.

Each stroke that she produced was not so much a 'stroke' as it was a short-lived wrench of her palm-orifice from the base of Juna's glans up to its tip. Executed with a succinct quickness that betrayed the haggard expulsions of muddy precum extracted from the nose of his cock per stroke, the motions took on the appearance of yet another 'milking' ministration from the moment Mirieli-a introduced them.

In spite of this, they somehow remained different from any of the other instances of stroking or pumping she had produced prior. Though the speed and pressure Mirieli-a imposed with her hand seemed an ideal combination for wringing another sloppy load from out of Juna's balls, there was nothing especially punishing or dire about the motions themselves. Shortly, one familiar with the alien woman's usual patterns might infer that she was taking things slowly. 

Whether this was for herself or the worn youth above her remained entirely up for debate. 

Whatever the truth of the matter, Mirieli-a perceived the 'half-effort' that she committed herself to as being much more satisfying than an expedited eruption of stinking nut from out of Juna's cock.

Prolonging her hand's progression up and down the 'best' inches of Juna's cock reminded her of how 'fortunate' she was to have met the boy all together. Whilst driving a steam-roller's pressure up along his weaponized cock-tip just fast enough for its meat to be smothered pleasurably as opposed to painfully, the throbbing of its veins and the writhing of its meat fed the same 'message' into her mind over and over again.

“This child is not merely an ideal food source. This child is also an ideal mate.”

The depressions of her palm were similarly 'enlightening'. At the beginning of these instances, the pale flesh of her hand benefited from a refreshed caking of her digits (as well of the interior of her palm-sleeve) with precum. Thus, by merely pressing her hand back down along the path it had travelled up his shaft, she continually exposed herself to the sensation of her lubricant-slogged skin gliding across the mess of heated, perpetually-pulsing flesh that comprised Juna's glans.

To her, this sensation was much more than the flesh-to-flesh contact that comprised it. As a result of her alien heritage, she could not help but imagine one of her orifices being penetrated by the unruly bulk of the boy's member as the width of her sleeve spread around his meat. It helped that the human body she had crafted for herself had been equipped with pleasure receptors in a number of unconventional locales, but this by itself did not render her as 'receptive' to every experience thrust at her.

The speedy slotting of Juna's cock in and out of her grasp was special. Enough so that a flush of arousal began to bisect her cheeks and peppered fractions of her face with an excited sweat.

Tactile pleasure aside, Mirieli-a's motions produced other sources of stimulation for her to bask in. By measuring the pace of the metronomic of ascent and descent of her palm such that Juna would be able to withstand it, a much more perverse chain of sticky “SCHLP* noises were wrung from his glans for each compressive stroke she produced. 

Over and over again did the greasy sound out in time with her palm's compression of the topmost inches of her youthful partner's shaft. It was nearly hypnotic—at least enough so to numb her to the increasingly large blurts of thickened precum out into many a hand-drenching drizzle across the exterior of her fingers.

It wasn't anywhere close to the level of intoxication required to blind her to her own hunger, however. 

Ever aware of the intent she had stated prior to throwing herself back into her ministrations, Mirieli-a shifted her attention away from her own pleasure and back onto Juna's. 

With this, she at last made use of her lips position opposite the root of his member. Seeking out the fattest vein nearest his glans (without opening her eyes), she stabbed her skull inwards to press her lips into contact with its bloat. Kissing and suckling as though the squishy vein and puffy cockflesh would kiss her back, she put the entirety of her spittle-smeared lip surface into an affectionate smothering of the region that she had chosen.

As she worked, her facial features remained upturned towards Juna. When she chose to press her monstrous tongue from between her lips and wipe its length along a path between the tip of his shaft and its midsection, the organ's entirety was again pushed into the boy's line of sight. Better still, the arcs of slime that fell from its exterior as it moved (as well as those smeared against the lower reaches of his cock) were made to appear that much more vivid.

Her 'kissing' did not stop at this. Once happy with the attention she had doled out to the side of his cock, her focal point shifted for a third time. 

Following the delivery of a deep peck against the sweat-flavored cockmeat beneath her lips, she drew her lips—and tongue—upward along the length of Juna's member. No pressure or 'intent' could be seen in this ascent; the only purpose that it served was a transition of her lips from the base of Juna's shaft to a spot just beneath his palm-wrapped glans.

Once here, she abandoned her kiss entirely. Shifting backwards by another handle of inches, she again settled her lips opposite the tip of the boy's member. 

This time, she did not consume the boy's member. Instead, a sudden parting of her lips initiated a sloppy tumble of her gullet's syrupy lubricant over the face of her tongue and down into contact with Juna's glans. No less murky or thick for the fact that it had yet to mix with the boy's precum, the heady substance rendered the 'gooey' shuffling of her palm-vice as indistinguishable from a leaking orifice's consumption of a phallus. Several seconds of drainage saw the exterior of her hand re-glazed several times over, and the contents of these 'glazes' smeared and smothered into Juna's erection an equivalent number of times. All throughout, the brazen *SCHLP* noises that had narrated her strokes prior were replaced by heavier (and audibly more sluggish) *effects* akin to the clopping of cake-batter within a bowl.

If this was all that came of Mirieli-a parting her lips, her efforts could have been described as tolerable.

But it wasn't. Not a half minute into her slovenly 'expulsion' of lubrication, she abated her mouth's sludge outflow in favor of speech.

“Cake my throat with you nutrients, Juna ♥. Drench and fatten my stomach with it. Feed me as if you were trying to inseminate me ♥.” Mirieli-a taunted, voice slurred and sodden by the conditions within her mouth. 

“It tastes so good. Feeling your cells tremble and wriggle as they slide down my throat is the most pleasurable thing in the world to me (h). Being able to milk your phallus for it is the most satisfying thing in the world for me.”

“So feed me ♥. Affirm my life with you...uhm...”

Earnest even in her attempts at depravity, Mireli-a paused to search her mind for a word that she had conveniently forgotten. 

When she recalled it, a smile was the first expression to come to her face.

“Cock juice ♥. That is the word, is it not? Affirm my life with your reeking cock juice...”

With her desires reiterated and her 'effort' complete, Mirieli-a began to wait. Juna's release remained a minute or so away by her projection; an ample amount of time for her to continue contributing to the pressure behind it and the volume that it was to contain. As she did, her mouth remained open, and her face continued to project the degenerate warmth that so often bled from her features and posture.

These things had nothing to do with supplementing the boy's orgasm. Her sole hope was that producing them at this particular juncture would present herself as loveable, and as a result, deserving of forgiveness for her less-than-compassionate utterances minutes prior. Her desire for Juna's forgiveness remained selfish at its core (as she hoped to leverage it for her goal of partnership), but this did not concern her.

What she wanted for Juna was what was best for him.

Of this she felt certain, and without a naysayer to suggest otherwise, she would continue to feel this way until she was proven wrong.

Unbeknownst to the disguised alien, all of her efforts from her apology onward were unnecessary.

She did not need to _earn_ forgiveness from Juna. For all that he had suffered at the hands of her and her daughters, she was no longer a being that he could bring himself to hate.

Even after the latest 'slippage' of her true nature, what Juna perceived was a fault in the personality of an individual named 'Mirieli-a' (as opposed to the callous indifference of a monstrosity). 

The key was her face. The passage of time had acclimated him to being 'himself' whilst under the influence of a foreign substance; it wasn't potent enough to alter his perception of reality, either. 

For the past year, he had looked upon and interacted with a woman that, save a handful of key differences appeared human. She no longer consumed human flesh, and had never once alluded to her having a desire to do so.

Helping such an individual survive was not wrong in his mind.

It couldn’t be.

-

**LIMITATION**

The first strand of semen to complete its urethra-fattening zig-zag through Juna's member told the boy that he had to do something.

Up until this point, he had done nothing. He had accepted Mirieli-a's desire to be fed, and had 'held on' through her attempt at an apology to feed his own desire for stimulation. He had made no attempts at firmly denying her suggestions, or even making use of the 'freedoms' allotted to him to gore her throat as a masturbation toy of his own accord.

What he did do amounted to standing and participation. Like a toddler frozen in place by the urging of a parent, he allowed the event to occur and elapse without making the slightest impact on its contents.

But no more.

When his balls' first noodle length wad of chunked protein burst out of his member and out towards Mirieli-a's face, the desire thus far sated by the stroking of the alien woman's hand and the confines of her throat demanded more of him.

A definition for this 'more' was formulated just as soon as the contents of this strand were splattered into a crooked bisection of Mirieli-a’s features. Unhindered by its own weight, the off-color slime applied a greyish white 'color' to her inhumanely ‘mixed’ complexion. Draped at a slant across the left-side of her face (beginning from a point just above her left eye before streaking across the bridge of her nose towards her right cheek), the meaty expulsion teased the ease with which he could provide the 'caking' that Mirieli-a had requested for her throat.

A woman born and bred on earth was unlikely to beg for a substance such as this to be spewed out into her stomach. Though very clearly fluid, his seed owned a weight and consistency best compared to mixture of lumpy tapioca or plaster. Mildly yellowed via infusion with urine and the denatured leftovers of seed left within his over-productive nuts from his last orgasm, it coloration was equally representative of virility and the often repulsive consequences of 'excess'.

In spite of this, Mirieli-a accepted her 'coating' with the substance as though she had received a sudden kiss on the cheek. She flicked her head backwards as if to say “Please coat more of my face.” and her torso shifted forward in what appeared to be preparation for Juna to do exactly this. Soon enough, a smile reminiscent of juvenile contentment began spreading across her lips as well.

As far as Juna could tell, the fact that her 'food' was being wasted was unimportant to her. In the split second that he spent observing her after the fact, his withered ego entertained the possibility of dumping all of her ‘food’ onto her face and forcing her to peel and slurp the substance off of her fingers if she wished to eat.

His libido had other plans.

Amidst the release of a second and third strand of seed from his cock, Juna took advantage of the changed position of Mirieli-a's face. In his time spent mulling, the 'action' that his body decided upon was plunging his cock straight down Mirieli-a's throat. Not for the sake of her feeding, but for the sake of making the most of his orgasm.

Her adorable ingress rendered the decision a no-brainer. Snapping his left hand forward, he curled his fingers amidst the mass of moss-green hair atop her skull and purposed the impromptu hooks to wrench her face further inward towards his crotch. Throughout the move, he stabbed his crotch towards her lips in hopes of meeting the approach of her skull halfway through.

Shock and contentment (as opposed to aggression and lust) consumed Juna’s features throughout these motions.

Just as soon as he initiated them, Mirieli-a acted to nullify them.

Prepared (and happily acceptant of) her suitor's decision, Mirieli-a reacted to the approach of his cock before she could be taken aback by its qualities. Before the heated seed erupting from Juna's member could coat her lips with another 'unappealing' substance, the pube-flecked-pillows spread away from one another.

With the interior of her mouth availed, the approach of his member became a non-issue. First, Juna's latest rope of nut was blasted out into contact with the hellish assortment of flesh and tongue that existed behind her lips. Subsequently (at the end of a throat-slotting that he had intended to be uncomfortable for the monstrous woman), the meat of his erection was again depressed into the tract-turned-fattened-sex-orifice (I know) right down to the root.

In the midst of an orgasm, such a sharp 'reintroduction' of his shaft's sensitive exterior with the cock-starved depths of Mirieli-a's face-cunt was debilitating. Juna had hoped to lose himself to this pleasure, but as soon as it hit him, he began to wonder whether or not he would survive such a thing.

All of a sudden, the taxing volume of dick juice packed into his balls began surging through his member at a much faster rate. Aggressively coaxed through his length by the swirling of the spongy 'esopahgus' flesh that had consumed it, the thread-packaged volume was vomited out into the bottomless flesh pit set out ahead of his glans to the tune of numerous (and slowly chained) *GLRP(h)*(s).

These noises sounded to Juna as those produced as a consequence of chugging some thick, chunk-laden mire. The half-beat set between their outflow and their coincidence with the release of each bloated rope of cock juice that slithered through his length made it easy enough for him to imagine Mirieli-a as producing the action (chugging/swallowing) as well.

The throat-meat surrounding his cock suggested otherwise. No more vigorous for the steaming nutrients repeatedly blasted out into their midst, Mirieli-a’s gullet remained far too stagnant (relatively speaking) for her to be actively drinking down his nut.

In his haste to pierce the older woman’s lips and take something for himself, Juna had forgotten that Mirieli-a did not need to ‘chew’ or ‘swallow’ as humans did. She could if she wished, but where fluids and semi-solids were concerned, a much simpler method of consumption remained available to her at all times.

This method was absorption: a slow and steady digestion of her gullet’s contents once the limitless sac was bloated by the entirety of his load.

Upon recalling this, only one explanation remained for the timed noise that flowed into his ears.

Strand by gluey strand, the volume of his orgasm was being ‘consumed’ by the lining of Mirieli-a’s flesh pit faster than it could be caked atop her innards or compiled to an extent that might bloat the midsection of her human frame.

Pinched between the euphoria of his gullet-assisted orgasm and the arousing noises that sounded out from Mirieli-a’s face, the ‘advantage’ that Juna had earned through his initial thrust was turned over to his mother.

Mirieli-a had expected to receive several short thrusts from Juna following his thrust. As these thrusts never came, she produced them herself.

Juna still had semen within him. Semen that belonged to her.

Still wearing the expression of a drowsy matron, she yanked her skull backwards along Juna’s cock in defiance of the feeble strength pulling down on her locks. In the blink of an eye, her lips were pressed from the root of his crotch up through a semen-greased ascent to its midsection. Here—with seed burbling out from underneath her lips and set in the midst of several lazy streaks across the length of his cock—she wasted no time in viciously (and messily) stamping her skull back down from when it came. Re-hilting the boy’s member in the process, a sloppy *PLAT!* indicative of penetration was produced immediately after the entirety of his cock was punched back into her depths.

Behind the first of these spikes came countless others. Each one consisting of a slightly sharper retraction and a slightly more impactful depression, Mirieli-a utilized the motion to wring out every drop of clotted tadpole mud still within Juna’s crotch out into a pointless caking of her innards.

For her efforts, she was pleasantly surprised. Before the outflow of semen from his length ceased completely, dollops of jizz large enough to send sizeable blurts of the substance blurting out of her nostrils were vomited out inside her in excess. When finally the point of no return was crossed, her contrived senses of smell and taste were completely consumed by the quality of Juna’s semen.

Well-fed and well tested, she produced a glossy ‘cherry’ to set atop the sundae of Juna’s release without so much as attempting to do so.

“How copious ♥. You gave me absolutely everything, Juna…” following a sluggish pop of her lips from off of her son’s cocktip, congested praise flowed from her lips like water. “I think that should be sufficient for a few days, so thank you very much for helping me...”

“As I won’t need to _consume_ your cells until then, I’ll make certain to relieve you of whatever you build up with my other orifices.”

“You’d enjoy this, would you not? You may not wish to inseminate me, but I am well aware of how much you enjoy mating with me...”

Try as he might to elude fate and live the life of a child resolute in honoring his deceased family, all of the ‘fuel’ powering Juna’s candor had been sucked out of him.

What remained in the absence of this resource was a child.

A child prone to nodding.


End file.
